


Ouija

by miri8luh



Series: Dead Revolutionaries [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, M/M, Ouija, Revolutionaries, Social Justice, They're all dead, and do social activism from beyond the grave, rating will change just warning you, they fuck with living people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3075998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miri8luh/pseuds/miri8luh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eponine is eternally bored, Grantaire is eternally in love, Enjolras manages to promote social justice from beyond the grave, and Cosette likes to fuck with boys and make them shit themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fuck hot boys for revolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got a ouija board for xmas, saw les mis on broadway, and kind of uh. couldnt sleep. (insomnia is shit). here you go.

“R, get up, we’re going to fuck with a Ouija board tonight.” Eponine kicked at her friend’s foot, trying to rouse him from his laying on the floor.

 

            “Sorry, ‘Ponine,” he said. “Enjolras and I have plans.”

 

            Eponine groaned; she’d heard that excuse enough times. “Grantaire. I’m sure our fearless leader’s Cause can wait another night. It’s not like any of us can, you know, do anything useful.”

 

            “This time,” Grantaire said, pausing for effect. (This is the point where he would’ve taken a swig of some alcoholic beverage or another but, alas, that proved impossible with their current—and permanent—conditions). “We have a real plan.”

 

            “Oh, a real plan!” Eponine replied, with mock enthusiasm. “That sounds brilliant, R. The dynamic duo has a real plan! Let’s hear it, then!”

 

            Grantaire glanced at her, holding back a chuckle. “Enjoying yourself?”

 

            “Quite.”  


            “Are you done?”

 

            “Possibly.”

 

            Grantaire grinned at his friend, before uttering the last sentence Eponine had expected to hear: “We’re gonna fuck.”

 

            “Wow. Just…wow. Just when I thought ‘Oh, R can't sink any lower!’ Guess what you go and do. Wow.”

 

            “No, Eponine, it’s brilliant!”

 

            “Oh, I’m sure. After all, R, getting some with Enjolras is your Cause, isn’t it?”

 

            If ghosts could blush, Grantaire was sure he would’ve been positively radiating with color. However, as it was, they could not, and he had to settle for glaring at Eponine, and swallowing his embarrassment and pride.

 

“It’s for, among other things, the Cause. You know how we can’t interact with mortals without strong enough emotions? Well, we figured out just how to get those feelings and if we, you know, do it in that politician’s room then the least we can accomplish is scare him shitless. Maybe give him a heart attack if we’re damn lucky. At least make the guy freak out a little.”

 

            “Enjolras is fucking you to make a point to a rich old dick,” Eponine deadpanned.

 

            “No!”

 

            Eponine raised her eyebrows at Grantaire, challenging his statement profusely without even having to say a word.

 

            “Remember when we found out ghosts need to experience an incredibly strong _emotion_ to be able to interact with the mortal world? Unless it’s a “spirit object” like a Ouija, that is?”

 

            Eponine did remember—Bahorel had attempted to test just how much humans wouldn’t be able to notice by jacking off in every room of the White House. While it had been a ridiculous (and time-consuming) experiment, their little group of dead friends had discovered that physical feelings wouldn’t work.

 

It was only when Enjolras’ righteous anger came out when he saw a young boy being bullied mercilessly for having less money than his classmates, and managed to throw a vase across the classroom towards the boy’s oppressors. Spurred by pure emotion (see: rage and fury at the abuse and judgment of the poor), Enjolras was able to interact with the human world.

 

Eponine smirked at the memory; that was one thing that being dead really helped them all out of having to explain.

 

Wait, but that meant that if Grantaire and Enjolras were really planning on interacting with the mortal world to scare the politician then…

 

            Eponine’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait…. Was that Enjolras’ was of saying he…”

 

            “Loves me?” Grantaire interjected. “Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping.”

 

            Eponine groaned. “Ugh. As if we needed more of your lovesick ass pining over our little revolutionary.”

 

            “Well he’s not exactly _little_ if you know what I mea-“

 

           “Nononononono we are NOT going there. I don't want to know, R. I love you, I do, but I DON’T WANT TO KNOW ABOUT ENJOLRAS’ DICK.”

 

            “Then go and find someone to do Ouija with.”

 

            Eponine sighed, running her hands through tangled curls; even in death her hair refused to be tamed. “I would, but everyone’s busy.”

 

            Grantaire smirked at her, and Eponine knew he meant trouble: “Not Cosette.”

 

            “Oh fuck no. Fuck no. We’re not dragging Cosette into fucking _Ouija_. No. R how could you even think that?! She’s been dead, what, ten years? She’s not ready for Oujia.”

 

            “Oh shut it, ‘Ponine,” snipped Grantaire. “Gavroche and the other kids do Ouija all the time. Some of them aren’t even decadial yet.”

 

            Eponine deadpanned. “Since when is Gavroche the exemplary model citizen?”

 

            “Well, Enjolras did say that-“

 

            “Oh shut up, R. I’ll take Cosette to do Ouija.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _some ghost terms to know (in case you dont or i made them up lmao):_
> 
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> 
>  
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>  **decadial:** they've been dead for 10+ years (u know. a decade)
> 
>  
> 
>  **Ouija:** that really scary as fuck boardgame everyone plays except it's the only way for the spirits to contact the human world without really strong emotions. the thing is, it has its emotional toll on ghosts so it's not a good idea for recently dead people to use it (they start to miss being alive too much, etc etc).


	2. cosette is borderline stalkerish except she's dead so it's cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we learn (a little more) about Cosette's past, Eponine is actually a great friend, and we find out about Jehan Prouvaire, who has yet to figure anything out
> 
> oh, and Cosette agrees to take a risk and have some fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for everyone who's reading this! it means a lot to me woah!
> 
> there's some more ghost terminology in this chapter, i defined it all at the end.

Before she drifted through the door of the abandoned café she shared with Les Amis, Eponine already knew where to search for Cosette. While the girl technically did stay with them all in the old Café Musain, she was more likely to be found in the small tree house of her old home.

 

Looking out the empty window of the wood, and in through the glass panels of the house’s windows, Cosette can see the love of her life and death. She remembers him weeping when she had died, remembers screaming herself hoarse trying to get him to notice her. But most of all, she remembers the one time her emotions were strong enough to get him to see her, and how it broke him.

 

She remembers Marius and their little daughter Rosemarié terrified, she remembers how her daughter screamed in fear at her dead mother’s cold face. She remembers the months of therapy Marius had to go through. And of course, Cosette remembers when he met Analise.

 

She remembers how at first he would blush himself silly around her, like he had around Cosette all those years ago as young teenagers in school. She remembers how he fell for her, hard and fast, because that’s how Marius Pontmercy falls for anyone.

 

When he loves someone, it’s with his whole heart. And, unbearable as that was for Cosette when she saw him with Analise, it used to light up her whole world.

 

“Yo, Cosette!” Eponine calls, loud and full of excitement, because that’s how Eponine talks to people. It shakes Cosette from her melancholy reverie, and she turns towards Eponine, breaking her borderline-stalking gaze of her family.

 

“Eponine,” she says, surprised that the brunette is here looking for her.

 

Normally, it’s Jehan, who recites poetry to her that makes her heart hurt, but makes her feel as if she has wings. Jehan, who laughs and cries with Cosette, and who seems to have a kinship to her romantic pining.

 

Or Joly, who rants to her, full of fear of germs and love for a boy who he refuses to tell her the name of. Joly, who makes her smile softly, who she ends up calming down from hypochondria, but who truly does care.

 

Or even Gavroche, who knows what it’s like to leave your whole life behind, and for an eternal twelve year old he knows an impressive amount of good ways to cheer her up.

 

But not Eponine, who she constantly clashes with on everything. Eponine, who Cosette differs from on every and all topics. While Cosette was a nineteen year old mother from the suburbs who died only nine years ago, Eponine was a seventeen year old revolutionary from monarchial France, who’s been dead for over a hundred years but acts like she’s still breathing and putting up a fight every day.

 

            “Hey so, Cosette, as you know some of us Amis like to do Ouija sometimes,” Eponine began, picking at one of her nails as she tried to act as casual as possible.

 

“You and Grantaire do it most, right?”

 

“Yeah, us and Jehan. He says it makes him feel “grounded” or something, but I think it’s just Jehan getting a little too into this whole death thing for his own good.”

 

Cosette laughed lightly; she liked Jehan a lot, but then so did everyone. Even the cynical Grantaire adored the boy to the point to call him one of his best friends.  

 

“But, anyways,” Eponine continued. “R is busy getting laid with Fearless Leader—don’t even ask, Cosette—and Jehan is off being all melancholy and “remembering” as he puts it. So do you want to?”

 

Confused, Cosette tilted her head. She didn’t want to seem rude—Cosette was very grateful that Eponine was attempting to include her in their group, even as a last resort. It was just, she had no idea what the French ghost meant.

 

“Um, Eponine?”

 

“Yah.”

 

“What exactly are you asking me to do?”

 

Eponine laughed. It wasn’t light and lark-like, as Cosette’s was often described. It was full of vigor, and passion and mirth. Eponine’s laughter lit up the little room in the tree house, and even Cosette, for all her mourning and longing, couldn’t resist the smile the inched it’s way across her face at the joyous sound.

 

“Ouija, of course!”

 

Cosette’s eyes widened—she had, of course, heard the dangers of non-decadial spirits doing Ouija. For someone like Eponine, or most of the Amis, really, it was no big deal. Jehan even got some kind of high off of it, even though half the time Grantaire had to pull him away, hyperventilating and crying.

 

Cosette had heard the horror stories—when things happened like Jehan’s circumstance, but there was no R to pull the planchette away. Without R, Cosette didn’t doubt that the crazed look in Jehan’s eyes would soon overtake him.

 

Cosette had heard about ghosts going spectral, and not coming back, no matter what. She worried that would happen to Jehan, but knew that if R’s words wouldn’t keep him from Ouija, then nothing she could say would keep the poetic revolutionary away from it.

 

“But…I’m not even decadial! What if something goes wrong, what if I see Obliviation, what if I think of Marius. Will…will I be safe?”

 

Eponine’s grin softened at this, noting the concern in the blonde’s eyes.

 

“I won’t let you go spectral. I’ve done it with Jehan enough times to know when he’s close to Obliviation, and I’m well versed in pulling away the damn planchette. You’ll be fine, Pontmercy.”

 

Cosette smiled at that. Worry still plagued her cold chest, but the fear of losing Eponine’s friendship and respect was worse. Cosette shoved down the doubt in her heart; after all, if Jehan had been close to Obliviation multiple times and Eponine had been able to save him, then Cosette had no need to doubt that the revolutionary would keep her safe as well.

 

“O..okay. Okay! Let’s do it, ‘Ponine!” Cosette grinned, despite herself. Eponine chuckled.

 

“Okay, blondie. I know just the place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ghostly definitions!_
> 
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>  **planchette:** the thing you put your hands on in Ouija and spirits move it. the spirits have to hold onto one side while mortals play, so they can get in contact with the living world
> 
>  **spectral:** ghosts that get too messed up by Ouija, and go into a trance they can't come out of. i can't say everything because jehan-related spoilers, but it's usually the result of prolonged emotional pain that a ghost has lived through
> 
>  **Obliviation:** the "white light" people see at the end of their lives. except, it's the light ghosts see that's the last warning that they're going to go spectral unless forcibly removed from the planchette and session of Ouija
> 
>  
> 
> i'm [annie-leonhardt](http://annie-leonhardt.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, feel free to hmu on there!
> 
> again, i'm not abandoning this, my update schedule is just very much based on my ability to sleep and 3-am insomniatic inspiration. 
> 
> (also: see if you can guess what's making our little Prouvaire lose his mind. it'll all be explained eventually!)
> 
> thanks for reading!


	3. jehan prouvaire is way too emotional about charlotte's fucking web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jehan is sad and scares us all, combeferre is confused and tries to keep it together, and we find out more about eponine, grantaire, and prouvaire's relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wOAH IT'S BEEN OVER A MONTH BUT GUESS WHO FINALLY UPDATED OUIJA
> 
> I'D LIKE TO GIVE A HUGE THANK YOU TO MY DEAREST BETA [GRACE](http://protect-jehan-prouvaire.tumblr.com/) WITH WHICH WHOM THIS WOULD BE A MESS TBH
> 
> I HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY AND I PROMISE I ALREADY STARTED CHAPTER FOUR SO I HOPE THERE ISN'T AS LONG A WAIT NEXT TIME!

Eyes glassed-over and barely registering his surroundings, Jehan Prouvaire rose from his usual place in the corner of a backroom of the Café Musain. Stretching slightly, the spirit tried to organize his thoughts; it seemed as though he had been just on the brink of remembering when R had shoved him out of Obliviation for the umpteenth time.

 

Jehan sighed, feeling the strangest combination of gratefulness and frustration. He knew Eponine and Grantaire cared about him, and often felt the guilt crashing down on him in the ways that he could never repay what they did for him. Yet, he needed to know.

 

“Salutations, Prouvaire,” called Combeferre as he entered the Musain through the wall, and walked towards the ever-melancholy poet taking residence in the corner of the room.

 

Jehan, though vaguely aware of his friend’s arrival, had become enamored with the tiny spider attempting to repair her web from the hole left by a previously consumed fly. Jehan was struck with a sudden memory, of laughing during a meeting of Les Amis, while a boy he couldn’t remember panicked about the arrival of a (much larger) arachnid.

 

“Jehan are you oka- JEHAN SNAP OUT OF IT!” Combeferre shouted, his voice rising in volume and intensity as the sentence progressed.

 

Before him, the poet shook, his eyes staring into nothingness as his small, ethereal frame was consumed by an unseen fervor.

  
Combeferre rushed over to Jehan, grabbing the spirit’s shoulders and attempting to hold him still. If it had been anyone else (ie: R or Eponine), the grabbing would have been accompanied by panicked words seasoned liberally with curses as they tried to calm Prouvaire down. As it was, Combeferre managed to retain some semblance of calm, as he panicked internally and tried to figure out what to do.

 

The Spectral Fit that Jehan found himself caught in the throes of wasn’t pretty, but Combeferre was certain that Jehan had experienced worse before. Late at night, he caught the hushed whispers of Eponine and Grantaire worrying over Prouvaire and his rapidly descending condition. He himself worried, but was not privy to the secret society that seemed to have come into fruition regarding the Curious Case of Jehan Prouvaire.

 

And besides, even if Combeferre had wished to gain knowledge on Prouvaire’s condition, he doubted the fiery Eponine and actually coherent Grantaire would let him in on anything regarding the poet. Thus, Combeferre relied on the gathering of information through the subject himself, a task which at times proved rather difficult, seeing as Prouvaire never seemed to be without Eponine or R.

 

And thus, as Jehan Prouvaire shook with the fervor of heartbreak that he did not know himself to have, tears overflowed from his gold-flecked eyes as he clung to Combeferre like a lifeline. His small, spindly hands dug into the back of his friend’s shirt, and there was no doubt that if Combeferre had been alive, the piercing indentations would have most certainly drawn blood.

 

“Wh…what happened?” Jehan inquired, shaking himself from his fervor.

 

Combeferre, stunned, came to the rather quick realization that his friend had no recollection of the Spectral Fit that had seemed to him an eternity.

 

“Did I…” Jehan trailed off, eyes both focused on nothing and on a small spot of grime on a wall opposite them.

 

“You had a… well I don’t know what to call it… I think it may be what Cosette called a ‘Spectral Fit’ but I’m not really sure what that is…” Combeferre replied, his hands attempting to assist his lacking words, before falling limply to his sides, as his sentence came to it’s own realization that the speaker was severely lacking in knowledge about the subject of what had just transpired.

 

Jehan nodded slightly, seeming to shrink in on himself. He was flooded with embarrassment and also the feeling that he had put Combeferre through something that he did not wish anyone to have to deal with.

 

The fear that Combeferre was attempting to quell still shined through in his tight smile and nervously darting eyes, and no matter how much the calm spirit seemed to think he was covering it up, Jehan knew well how to understand the struggles and lies of others. He was, after all, adept at the same tactics.

 

“Do you need me to call Eponine or Grantaire?” Combeferre asked the small poet, when he came to the conclusion that there was nothing he himself could do.  
“No!” Jehan replied, with a passion that stunned Combeferre.

 

For a man who had just been seizing on the floor, Jehan seemed stronger than he ever had, in his utter conviction that his closest friends should not be involved.

 

“Ferre, you can’t!” Jehan cried out, with the pain in his voice of the criminals suffering eternally in the pits of Tartarus, and the selfless martyrdom of heroes like Achilles and Joan of Arc.

 

He seems to speak in tongues that were beyond himself, to transcend time itself, and to rise up to the eternal garden while he is pulled down into the depths of despair and fire.

 

“I have promised myself that I shall let them be happy, and I know what a hindrance I have become. Eponine is off with the melancholy blonde who braids my hair and watches herself fade to grey. Grantaire is off with the fiery blonde he died for to further the only Cause he holds dear. I have found no greater happiness in me than to let those I love be happy in the presence of those who fill their hearts with golden sunbeams and eyes with gardens of hope.”

 

Jehan said those words with the mediocre monotony that one might say “no, I’ll sit here” or “that’s a nice dress.” Combeferre did not know quite what to do, but understood that the very cosmos were bound to shatter upon themselves if he dishonored the Romantic’s request.

 

Thus, he inched his way over to Jehan from where he had retreated after the reemergence of the poet’s consciousness, and gave him a chance to protest. Receiving no response, he gathered the frail and equally strong body into his arms, and pulled him into his lap.

 

Combeferre may not have known how to handle Jehan’s problems, but he had spent enough time with Enjolras to know how to deal with overdramatic boys and problems their hearts may have. So for now, he comforted himself with the fact the if the melancholic Romantic is resting safely in his ethereal lap, Combeferre could delude himself that he will not fall victim to the tragedy that lives within him, and the void that threatened to consume everything he was, is, and shall ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you got my charlotte's web joke kudos to you that's the best book not gonna lie (i cry every time)
> 
> time for ghost terms!
> 
>  **Spectral Fit** : kind of a ghost seizure????? it happens when ghosts experience too many close encounters with obliviation, and are triggered by an especially strong memory/flashback to life. 
> 
>  
> 
> **IMPORTANT: DO NOT ATTEMPT TO HOLD A PERSON DOWN IF THEY ARE HAVING A SEIZURE. COMBEFERRE IS WRONG FOR ONCE. IT'S OKAY HERE BECAUSE THEY'RE DEAD. DO NOT DO THIS TO A LIVING PERSON.**
> 
> also guys hmu on my tumblr it's [annie-leonhardt](http://annie-leonhardt.tumblr.com/)!!! you can tag anything for this fic with "fic: ouija" and i'd be super super excited and yeah! see y'all next chapter!


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